Worship as Self-Care and Community-Care - Redeemer Episcopal Church

Mark 6:30-34, 53-56

Feeding the Five Thousand

The apostles gathered around Jesus, and told him all that they had done and taught. He said to them, “Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a deserted place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they hurried there on foot from all the towns and arrived ahead of them. As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd; and he began to teach them many things.

When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored the boat. When they got out of the boat, people at once recognized him, and rushed about that whole region and began to bring the sick on mats to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he went, into villages or cities or farms, they laid the sick in the marketplaces, and begged him that they might touch even the fringe of his cloak; and all who touched it were healed.

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This sermon was originally preached by me, to a certain people in a certain time and place, but we believe in the power of the Spirit, so it might touch you as well. 

It is GOOD to be back with you all. The last eight weeks or so have been wonderful for our family as it expanded and I am so grateful for the time that we were able to spend together in our little bubble as we got to know our daughter. 

AND it was HARD. Of course, we have a newborn again and that comes with all sorts of challenges and exhaustion, but one of the hardest parts for me was that I do not rest well. I am not someone who sits for very long. Even when recovering from childbirth. I’m a busybody— the kind of person who used to make to do lists during church. 

We all know that God has a good sense of humor, which I think is why we heard this text this morning. Of course my first sermon back from parental leave would be about rest— or perhaps about looking for rest. 

Last week we heard about God, who perched on the Ark of Covenant. The people believed that God would come and go as God pleased and that they could provide a resting place for God in their community with a tabernacle and ark. But, as Father Wiley said, we know that God has come to us in the person of Jesus— the God that we worship is incarnate, in flesh and blood— a real living person with whom we can have a relationship. With whom we DO have a relationship. 

In the reading this morning, the apostles were returning from their mission that Jesus had sent them on to go into the towns and cities to heal and to proclaim the coming of the Kingdom of God. When they came back from the towns, the crowds were constantly trying to find them— apparently news had spread quite effectively about Jesus and his band of followers… It was getting so crowded and the people were so desperate to see Jesus that the apostles barely had any time to even eat by themselves. 

“Come away to a deserted place all by yourselves and rest a while.” Jesus tells them. But even this didn’t work because people recognized them and got to their resting place first and continued to press in on Jesus and the apostles. Now, if I were one of the apostles, I would be pretty upset by this— they had just traveled all over the country and now they were ready to rest a little bit. They just wanted to eat dinner in peace! That couldn’t be too much to ask. I’d be wanting Jesus to put his foot down and send the crowds away so I could rest a while. 

What we are seeing in this story is not only that the apostles are feeling overworked and overwhelmed by the persistent crowds, but the other side of it is that we see hundreds and even thousands of people who are so desperate for the teachings of Jesus that they follow Jesus and the apostles around all over the country, not even stopping for food for themselves. 

As our world moves back into its rhythm of overwork and go go go, I think we are going to start to feel a similar kind of weariness and maybe even desperation— we might feel a bit like the apostles AND a bit like the crowds all at once. And when that happens, people are going to tell us about what we tend to call “self care” or “rest” as a resistance to this overwork. We’ll hear about how we need to take time for ourselves and care for ourselves. I heard a lot of this during the last eight weeks— I needed to take some time to take care of myself. What they mean most of the time is that I should take a bubble bath or get a massage.

And there is certainly nothing wrong with self-care in the form of things like massages and bubble baths or beach vacations. But the weariness I felt over the last few weeks wasn’t going to be cured by taking a walk or reading a novel. I think the weariness of the past year and a half is going to show us that we need something more than superficial self-care. We are going to find ourselves both just like the apostles— needing “Come away to a deserted place all by ourselves and rest a while”— and also like the crowds— so desperate for Jesus and his teaching and healing that we press in from all sides. 

I loved what Father Wiley said about worship last week— what if our perspective changes and we GOT to go to worship instead of feeling like we HAVE to go to worship? How would that change our experience of God? Worship as a privilege instead of obligation. As someone who grew up very much feeling like worship was just an obligation, I can understand if you’re not quite there yet, if you’re not quite to the point where worship feels like a celebration or a place where we can dance. It wasn’t until a few years ago that I began to feel that myself. But then, I realized, worship is part of my deep-needed spiritual self-care. 

Worship is a privilege and a celebration, but it’s also more than that— it’s the root from which we gain our nourishment, it is absolutely necessary for our life with God. And I’m a campus pastor— I would never ever say that we can only worship God in THIS building. Or even that this building is better fit for worship than anywhere else in the world. BUT… if your life is anything like mine, it does not give many opportunities to sit and rest with God, to be quiet and listen to God’s Word speaking into my life. When people ask me about my spiritual life during the week, I might mention something about reading the Bible when I’m preparing my sermons, but it really is sometimes ONLY Sunday mornings when I take enough time and sit quietly enough to listen to God. 

That is the power of worship in this space. It is within these walls that everything else falls away. It is in this place, and during THIS particular time that we set aside other obligations and, if we allow ourselves, it is here that we come away to rest a while. It’s not that God won’t meet us in other places of our lives, and indeed, God is always present. But here in this place? This is where WE can show up to be attentive to God, this is where we can truly rest and be healed because there is power in these rituals, in the routine of standing and sitting, praying and singing, our worship is embodied just like our God.

My hope for you is that you might feel the desperation of the crowds. That you might ache for his teaching, so much so that you’re willing to sit at his feet hungry, believing that he will provide you will more than enough. I hope that we might know what it means to need Jesus and the healing he provides that we press in close, just to touch the fringe of his cloak. And I hope that you might know that you are invited here— to this place, in this time, to this table, and this community— to be nourished and healed and be taught by our incarnate and ever-compassionate God. Amen. 

"You are Witnesses of These Things" - Redeemer Episcopal Church

 Luke 24:36b-48

Jesus Appears to His Disciples

36 While they were talking about this, Jesus himself stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.” 37 They were startled and terrified, and thought that they were seeing a ghost. 38 He said to them, “Why are you frightened, and why do doubts arise in your hearts? 39 Look at my hands and my feet; see that it is I myself. Touch me and see; for a ghost does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.” 40 And when he had said this, he showed them his hands and his feet. 41 While in their joy they were disbelieving and still wondering, he said to them, “Have you anything here to eat?” 42 They gave him a piece of broiled fish, 43 and he took it and ate in their presence.

44 Then he said to them, “These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you—that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled.” 45 Then he opened their minds to understand the scriptures, 46 and he said to them, “Thus it is written, that the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, 47 and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. 48 You are witnesses of these things.

God of grace and mercy, help us to understand our new identity as witnesses to Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection in the world, its importance to your mission in this season of Easter. Amen. 

The very last line of this morning’s gospel text strikes me. “You are witnesses of these things,” Jesus says. It’s a statement, not a question or even a command or commission. Jesus doesn’t say, “are you ready to be witnesses?” Or “whenever it’s convenient I’d like for you to be witnesses” or “in the next couple of years, please go be witnesses.” Jesus says, “you are witnesses of these things.” It is a declaration. For the disciples, being witnesses is not voluntary, it is a state of being. It is undeniably a part of their identity now because of what Christ has done in his life, death, and resurrection. 

I remember when I was younger, I would watch my dad leave for work wearing a flight suit and combat boots— his uniform as a pilot in the army. It was part of his identity and who he was for nearly 22 years, and in many ways it is still a part of his identity. But every evening he would come home and take that uniform off and I didn’t think of him as an Army pilot, but just as my dad, who let me put flowery clips in his hair and paint his nails on the weekend. 

There are many professions that have uniforms or certain dress codes, but we don’t wear those uniforms all the time. We take off the chef’s coat or the scrubs or the construction hat or the suit and tie and we can be seen as someone other than our profession or our job. In that way, what we do doesn’t have to be who we are. On the weekends or in the evenings, whenever we “clock out,” we can be someone or something entirely different if we want to. Just by changing our clothes. 

But that is not the case with our identity in Christ Jesus. 

This is what we learn when Jesus declares, “you are witnesses.” And this is what we hear at the beginning of the second reading: we should be called children of God; and that is what we are. We are God’s children now. This is the declaration we hear in our baptismal vows— whether we hear them when we are babies and our family and friends are making vows on our behalf or later in life— we are named and claimed as God’s children. 

When the waters of baptism wash over us, and when we are marked with the sign of the cross in oil, we are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever. And most of us affirm these vows and this commitment to Christ again in our confirmation and every time we witness another baptism in our community. Our identity is changed forever in that holy sacrament. 

The water that has cleansed us, the oil that has sealed a cross on our foreheads is not something that can be taken off. It doesn’t matter if we wear a cross necklace some days or a t-shirt announcing our Christianity to the world. God has made a declaration to us, that we are God’s children and our new identity in Christ not something we put on and take off like a jacket. It is who we are. 

In that way, our identity as witnesses, just like the disciples, is also who we are. What we do and say, how we treat others, how we interact with the world, is all witnessing to who we are as God’s children. 

Last week, I left you with a series of questions about if the resurrection made any difference at all in our lives. And this week Jesus declares that it does. Not that the resurrection should change us or that it has the potential change us, but that it does change us. Because we are witnesses to the risen Christ, and are baptized in the Spirit, we have been changed whether we completely understand it or not. 

And because of this change— our language, our behavior, our words and actions not only witness to who we are as children of God, but also how others see God to be. Let me repeat that— the way people see us is how people see God. We are never NOT giving witness to God in the world. 

And that is important to remember as we are faced with tragedy after tragedy across our country, it’s important to remember as we re-enter the world in public witness in person, and as we care for creation and one another after so much loss and as we continue to be faced with difficult times. We are witnesses not only to the wounds that Jesus shows us in his hands and his feet, but we touch and see that Jesus has been resurrected. And we are also witnesses to the wounds of this world. We are witnesses to the wounds of our siblings and to the re-creation that God is bringing about in the world through redemption and reconciliation.

There is no season like the season of Easter to get used to this witnessing. To be continually reminded that in everything we do, in everything we say, as well as everything we don’t do and everything we don’t say, we are witnessing to who we are are whose we are in light of the resurrection, the light of the flesh and blood of our Christ who meets us here in our own wounds, in the promise of our own resurrection. Amen. 

The Cost of Discipleship - Redeemer Episcopal Church

Luke 12:49-56 

⁴⁹“I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! ⁵⁰I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! ⁵¹Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! ⁵²From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three;⁵³they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.”

⁵⁴He also said to the crowds, “When you see a cloud rising in the west, you immediately say, ‘It is going to rain’; and so it happens. ⁵⁵And when you see the south wind blowing, you say, ‘There will be scorching heat’; and it happens. ⁵⁶You hypocrites! You know how to interpret the appearance of earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?

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This sermon was originally preached by me, Rev. Sarah Locke, at Redeemer Episcopal Church on August 18, 2019. You can listen to the sermon by visiting the link here. 

Grace and peace to you, from God in Christ who bids us come and follow him and his example so that we might lead holy lives. Amen. 

During my course of studies in seminary, I was required to spend one year in a congregational setting, on internship. Because no one ever accused me of being boring, I applied and was selected to do an international internship in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. I had many incredible opportunities while serving in a largely Indian and Chinese congregation there. 

One of my favorite opportunities was teaching Bible study at their sister congregation, that was made up entirely of Nepalese migrant workers. None of them spoke English, so the entire Bible study was translated back and forth between me, the translator, and these men. 

They had migrated recently to Malaysia and worked brutal hours in the factories there. They often lived in tiny apartments with many people to one room, but this group of men was happy and smiling when they came to Bible study every Wednesday night. 

Throughout the Bible studies, it came out that these men were not just seeking a better life here in Malaysia, in fact many of them had been teachers and doctors in Nepal. They were forced to leave. 

They were Christians and not even 1.5% of the Nepalese population is Christian. They told me stories of people coming into their villages, threatening them and their families. They were given a choice: denounce Christianity, leave the country, or die in the fires they would set in their villages. They had 24 hours to decide. 

They told me that some of their friends and even family members decided to stay and denounce Christianity, leaving their belief behind so that they could live in their country and community. Some of their wives even couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the country, so they stayed with their children and denounced Christianity. 

These few men sitting in the Bible study each week were there because they had nothing else. They were there because the gospel had changed their lives and transformed who they were and they were not willing to put that aside for the sake of their community or even their families. 

Eventually I asked, “how did the people know you were Christians?” 

They looked at my dumbfounded and said, “well of course because of the way we lived.” 

Precisely what Jesus says in this troubling and difficult text is what happened to these men. Division, conflict, between family and communities. It cost them everything to be Christians, sometimes including their wives and children. 

In Jesus’ time, it cost a lot to be his follower. Following Jesus often meant being in conflict with your family, your employer, the people who you have known your entire life in your community and faith. 

Jesus wasn’t the warrior king that they had expected, that they had read about in the prophecies. Jesus was humble, kind, loving, and forgiving. He regularly made a table with sinners and those that people had deemed unclean. 

If you were a follower in Jesus’ time, it meant that you not only had to change your beliefs about what the messiah is supposed to look like and other core Jewish beliefs, but you also had to change how you lived. 

Following Jesus meant literally following him, often going around the country with him, giving up your own resources to provide for his other followers, dining with the people Jesus dined with, which was often uncomfortable for the disciples. 

It meant that those who followed Jesus had to preach forgiveness and love, treating others as Jesus treated them, healing, and inviting people into their homes. 

Eventually, the cost of being a disciple for most of Jesus’ followers was their own lives. 

Following Jesus in Nepal looked a lot like following Jesus when he was here on earth. I wonder what following Jesus looks like for us, here in this community. 

Do we live in such a way that our discipleship costs us anything? Does believing in Christ Jesus, living in the reality of his death, resurrection, and ascension change the way we see the world? Does it change the way the world sees us? 

Does coming to this table every week to feed on the body and blood of Christ Jesus change us? Did our baptisms turn our lives upside down and inside out? 

How can we use our time together on Sunday in worship, Sunday school, in our book groups, and in fellowship to encourage one another to not just believe in Jesus, but to truly act like Jesus.

How do we even do that? If we want to imitate someone, be more like them, then we must spent lots of time with them and with other people who are like them. In order to be more like Jesus, we must spend a lot of time getting to know Jesus. We must spend a lot of time learning about who he is and what he did while he walked this earth with the disciples. 

We have to know the kind of person that he was and the kind of people he made company with. And as we begin to understand all of that, we can begin walking that path as well, following in Jesus’ footsteps and being like him. That is, after all, our call as Christians. 

Perhaps our following Jesus will cause division within our families or even our community. Jesus says that he will cause division.

But perhaps instead of being fearful of the fire that Jesus speaks about, we can lean into it a bit with our own lives. We can encourage a fire within us, a fire that kindles the passions of God, encourages the love of Christ and the Holy Spirit. 

But we can also lean into the fire that helps refine us, that helps us be a bit more like Christ, the fire that turns and molds our beliefs into actions. Then perhaps we can have the faith that our second reading describes, that faith of the great cloud of witnesses before us, so that we may lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely and follow daily in the blessed steps of Christ’s most holy life. 

Amen.

Do Not Be Afraid - Redeemer Episcopal Church

Luke 12:32-40 

³²“Do not be afraid, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom. ³³Sell your possessions, and give alms. Make purses for yourselves that do not wear out, an unfailing treasure in heaven, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. ³⁴For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. ³⁵“Be dressed for action and have your lamps lit; ³⁶be like those who are waiting for their master to return from the wedding banquet, so that they may open the door for him as soon as he comes and knocks. ³⁷Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes; truly I tell you, he will fasten his belt and have them sit down to eat, and he will come and serve them.³⁸If he comes during the middle of the night, or near dawn, and finds them so, blessed are those slaves. ³⁹“But know this: if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. ⁴⁰You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

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This sermon was originally preached at Redeemer Episcopal Church on August 11, 2019 by The Rev. Sarah Locke. You can listen to the sermon audio (with infusions from the Spirit) at this link. 

Grace and peace from God in Christ, without whom we cannot exist. Amen. 

“Do not be afraid” seems like an absolutely ridiculous thing for God to say to us, and to these people in these stories. 

Think of the story of Abram: God had promised that he would be a great nation and up until then, he had only had a son born to his wife’s slave— hardly the right kind of heir! So he questions God, and I think most of us would say rightly so— and God says “Do not be afraid.” But can we blame Abram for being afraid? Things aren’t going as planned or promised and he is already an old man. 

In the gospel text, Jesus is in the core of his teaching. He has already healed many people, he has calmed the storms, and he has predicted his death multiple times to his disciples. Why wouldn’t they be in fear and trembling about all the things their rabbi has done and says that he will do? Just before this, Jesus told someone in the crowd that possessions are only going to rot and crumble beneath them. The one thing that assured the life and longevity of people in the ancient world— wealth, acquiring more stuff— Jesus says is worthless. It makes sense that people are a little uneasy. 

So how galling is it that Jesus says, “Do not be afraid.”

This is the same message that God brings to us today. 

The imagery that Jesus uses as he speaks to the disciples strikes me. Jesus gives us a story of a slave, waiting in the middle of the night, for the master to return. Then he says that “if the owner of the house had known at what hour the thief was coming, he would not have let his house be broken into. ⁴⁰You also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”

Jesus us tells his followers about two times when we much stay awake, stay alert. And they both happen to be at night. It is in the middle of the night that the master may return from the wedding banquet. We are to stay up, far into the darkness of evening to await his return. Far into the unknown hours of mystery and vulnerability. So too, Jesus speaks of a thief who comes during some mysterious, unknown hour to break into the house.

This is where we find ourselves this morning. In darkness, in mystery, in fear, awaiting those things that we know will come, but without any indication of when or for how long we must wait.  

127 of God’s children have died or were injured in mass shootings in the United States just in the last two weeks. 

680 of God’s children were arrested in ICE raids this week and hundreds of parents were separated from their children.

God’s creation of land and water are being exploited at unprecedented rates, wreaking havoc on our whole world. 

Friday’s triple shooting marked Jacksonville’s 100th homicide this year.

Do not be afraid, Jesus says. 

But it seems we are sitting in the deepest darkness many of us can imagine. 

Think about what it means to be in the dark. As children, many of us were probably afraid of the dark. Maybe we still are. It’s often terrifying and it makes us sit up a little straighter, strain our eyes a bit to be sure we know where we are going, keeps us focused and diligent. But is also gives us an opportunity. 

Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us that “we are never more in danger of stumbling than when we think we know where we are going.” Only when there are no more maps, no more compasses, no more lights to direct the way, are we fully vulnerable to God. 

So here we are, waiting in the darkness, beginning to understand that we are fully reliant on God. In the collect this morning we prayed that we cannot exist without God. How often do we truly believe that? Only when we know we cannot rely on anything else in this world. Only when we are in total darkness, waiting for God to return.

So what do we do in this space? What do we do to quell our fear and feel more secure?

The world would tell us that we have to have more defenses, buy more guns, increase our national security budget, have some sort registry of the mentally ill. The world would tell us that we must frantically flip on all the lights and respond in fear, gathering up all the resources we can so that we can defend ourselves against intruders and thieves. The world tells us that these things will keep us safe. 

But God tells us that true security doesn’t come from those things. In fact, Jesus tells us to sell all of our possession in preparation for his return, we are to give to the poor and be cautious of what lies within our hearts. Our psalm this morning says this: There is no king that can be saved by a mighty army; a strong man is not delivered by his great strength. The horse is a vain hope for deliverance; for all its strength it cannot save. God is our only help and shield.

The only thing that can hold is in this in-between time— this time of darkness, mystery, and fear, when the reign of God is not but not yet come, is God. Only God. 

So what are we to do? We look to our ancestors and all those saints who have gone before us, we look to those who have gone through the darkest of times and we learn from our history. We remember those who have died fighting against the same evils. We read their stories again and again, we remember their names on our lips and in our prayers. We dine with them at this holy table. We are assured in the promise that we are washed in the same waters of baptism with them. And like Abraham and Sarah, and our parents before us, we defiantly, rebelliously have more faith in God than we do in this world. 

Because we know where we are in this story, as resurrection people— we know the end of this story. We know how it ends. God’s story does not end with the darkness of the sun being blotted out as Christ dies on the cross, it does not end with the darkness of the tomb. 

The story continues as the sun rises to reveal an open and empty tomb. 

God’s promise of life everlasting is the only thing that allows us to sit through the night, waiting for the thief, wondering what comes next. It is only God’s promise that allows us to have faith that something better awaits. 

And that is exactly why we come together in this community to sit and wait and be vulnerable before God as we wait for what is to come, trusting in God’s radical and revolutionary promise that we need not worry. 

Amen. 

Follow - Trinity Lutheran Church

My latest sermon at Trinity Lutheran Church in Jacksonville, Florida, was a prime example of what happens when I've had a long week, the gospel text feels more convicting to myself than anyone I might be preaching to, and the Holy Spirit catches me between the two worship services.

If I uploaded the sermon audio from both the 9am and 11am worship services, you'd be surprised by how different they sound. They are almost 3 minutes different in time and I'm honestly not even sure what I preached at the second service. But that's the work of the Spirit. Which is also why I don't have a manuscript to share with you from last week, and why I am posting it so late. I wasn't sure if I would share it with the world at all. But, alas, I'm a sucker for consistency and I will try to always upload my sermon and sermon audio for those who want to be a part of this community of faith.

You can find my sermon audio from last week at the link here and you can read the gospel lesson below. Peace to you.

Luke 9:51-62

When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem. And he sent messengers ahead of him. On their way they entered a village of the Samaritans to make ready for him; but they did not receive him, because his face was set toward Jerusalem. When his disciples James and John saw it, they said, “Lord, do you want us to command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?” But he turned and rebuked them. Then they went on to another village.

As they were going along the road, someone said to him, “I will follow you wherever you go.” And Jesus said to him, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” To another he said, “Follow me.” But he said, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” But Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”Another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home.” Jesus said to him, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

Unnoticed Miracles

Matthew 1:18-25

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus.

A sermon for the 4th Sunday in Advent, preached at St. James Lutheran Church in Fayetteville, North Carolina. 

It’s a miracle! This is it! The virgin conception! This is what we’ve been waiting for this whole season! We’ve been waiting for this big miracle— the miracle that the angels proclaim, the miracle that prophets had been writing about for centuries. It’s finally here! 

We like to get caught up in the big miracle stories of the Bible — and the virgin conception and birth is one of our favorites to tell and speculate about. How did God do it? Was it real? When did she find out? 

We love these big, important miracles in the Bible like the flood, the manna, plagues, parting of the Red Sea, the feeding of the thousands, the healing stories of Jesus' time. 

We get so caught up in waiting for the big miracles that we forget to look for the smaller, unnoticed miracles in the story. In this case, Joseph’s side of the story is full of little miracles if we look a little bit closer. 

Here we have Joseph who finds out about Mary’s pregnancy. And of course he would think that she has committed adultery. 

Doesn’t expose her to the authorities, so he decides to divorce her quietly. 

Which at first doesn’t seem like such a righteous thing as the text tell us it is. 

But we know from the law that any woman who commits adultery will be stoned to death. 

So Joseph essentially chose to spare Mary’s life by divorcing her quietly and possibly infringes on his own honor and status in society. Even before the angel shows up in his dream, he is already planning to do something unexpected. It just shows the kind of person Joseph was — he was kind, compassionate, and a little bit subversive. 

And God uses this man to further God’s mission. God sends an angel to his dream and the angel tells him not to be afraid. “Do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife,” the angels says. The angels says, “she’ll have a son and you’ll name him Jesus.” 

And he did. He took Mary and married her — despite the ridicule that he would get. Despite the risk to his reputation and status in society. And what’s more — he takes the word of God and he raises Jesus as his own son, giving him a name, a home, and a trade. A miracle. 

That’s what a miracle is after all — when God, in all of God’s glory, opens our hearts to lean closer and listen more clearly and love more fully. But those kinds of miracles aren’t flashy. They aren’t always exciting. The in-breaking of the Kingdom of God is actually quit hard sometimes. 

Which is why we would rather wait for God to act, wait for God to do something explosive and amazing. 

We do the same thing with the stories in our lives, don’t we? We are always waiting for the big miracles, the ones we can turn into TV shows or movies or Facebook posts. 

We spend a lot of our lives waiting for miracles like this one. Searching for where God is breaking into the world to save a loved one from a disease or bring two estranged people back together. We are waiting for miracles all the time. 

But we want the big kind of miracle — we want the kinds that really knock our socks off with how amazing we are. And we sit and we wait for them, hoping and praying that they happen soon. 

But, I think, when we sit and wait passively for miracles to happen to us and for us, we forget that miracles -- the little ones, if there are such things as little miracles -- really are happening around us all the time. They might go unnoticed to most of the world, but that doesn’t make them any less significant. Because from what I have noticed, God tends to work through the small miracles. God tends to work through the everyday things and relationships we have with people. 

Just recently I heard a story about a young pastor and his wife: 

A man was locking up the church one evening when he finds two little boys - about 2 years old and the other 7 months old - almost naked in a pile of trash outside of the church - they were only wearing diapers. 

Unsure of what to do, he called the pastor of the church and the pastor and his wife rushed over immediately. As the pastor arrived and they talked about what to do, the parents of the little boys came out of the woods near the church and told the pastor and his wife that they were homeless and cannot take care of their children. 

The pastor asked if he might take the boys home to clean them up and keep them warm for the night. The boys were covered in bug bites, when they pulled the shoes off the older boy some of his skin came off with it. They were so filthy, the pastor and his wife bathed them once, drained the water, and bathed them again. 

The pastor and his wife came back to the woods the next day to talk to the homeless couple about their situation. After a few weeks of taking care of the boys, the homeless couple asked if they might sign custody over to the pastor and his wife. The pastor’s wife says they barely hesitated, “of course,” she said. The pastor and his wife already has three children, but without hesitation they invited two more little boys into their home, and eventually adopted them. 

This is the kind of every day miracles God works through. And if we had the courage to look around us, we would be able to see these things happening in our lives and the lives of other every single day. 

Just this past Thursday, we had one here in the church - A group of men from Grace Lutheran Church drove about five hours to deliver all of the hurricane relief supplies. Then a group of people from this church took time out of their days to come and receive donations those donations. It was an outpouring of love that was beautiful to behold. 

It’s these kinds of miracles that God works through. We like the big ones — the ones that they make into movies, like the ones where children die and meet God and come back and tell everyone about it. God works in those miracles, there’s no doubt about that. And those are the kinds of miracles we long for, aren’t they? The big kind — the kind we can post pictures and a Facebook status about. The kind that make it into the newspaper. 

But the most important and incredible miracles this world has ever seen came not in all the flashiness of Hollywood and not with thousands of pictures documenting the moment. It came in the birth of a baby we call Immanuel, God with us. The most significant miracle in all the world came into the world as a baby because God wants so badly to be in relationship with us that God actually became one of us. So that through him we might find salvation and become a part of God’s work in the world too. This miracle lives on as the body of Christ, and we are taken up into that miracle every Sunday as we eat and drink the body and blood of Christ together in the Eucharist. We become a part of this miracle. 

So that we might be a participants in and recipients of God’s incredible in-breaking of the Kingdom of God. So that we might point to the miracle that is Christ, our Lord and our Savior. Amen. 

A Terrifyingly Beautiful Call

(Sermon at Luther House Chapel on April 10, 2016 - John 21:1-19)

Last year when I was working in a church, I was approached by a parishioner after preaching. He said, "Sarah, you should really stop starting your sermons with 'I love this story of Jesus.' Surely you don't love every story of Jesus. And anyway, you use the same beginning for every sermon."

At the time, I smiled sweetly and said, "Oh but I do love every story of Jesus. There is not a single story of Jesus and his disciples that does not bring me great joy. I love them. And I love telling them! But you're right - I should probably stop repeating myself."

And I do. I love every story of Jesus - but I understand his point. Sometimes saying I love every story of Jesus doesn't quite do every story justice. Take this story, for instance - I do love this story of Jesus and his disciples. The imagery is rich, Jesus nourished his friends - it is a beautiful scene. But I don't just love this story - this passage actually terrifies me.

Like the disciples, we really have no idea what we are getting ourselves into when we encounter God incarnate in Christ Jesus. We encounter God - or rather God comes crashing into our life - and suddenly things are turned upside down and inside out. It's terrifying.

My husband calls these "mountain-top experiences." And I would guess that many of you have had these experiences throughout your life. It could be while you are on a mission trip, it could be the moment you hold your newborn baby in your arms for the first time, it might be in the midst of great pain and sorrow... You can have these experiences throughout your entire life - in fact, for some of us, it is what brought us to church in the first place.

One of my mountain-top experiences happened in the Central American country of Honduras, literally on the side of a mountain in a small village.

It is the kind of experience that makes God feel so close. Suddenly and beautifully you know that you're walking on holy ground and the existence of God and the love of Christ are undeniable. And somehow, in some way, you know your whole life has changed. You know your identity has shifted and your goals and your mission in life are new and more important.

All of that happened to me on that side of the mountain in Honduras - everything change and all of a sudden I knew I wanted to do international mission work. I knew I wanted to travel the world and meet new people and fall in love with all of God's creation. I was so ready for the next adventure, I wanted to change my plans and change my life to go where God was leading me.

But ten days later, I was back in the United States and I decided not to quit seminary, I decided not to immediately become a missionary. I began classes again and I started work once more. And as I entered the usual drudgery of providing for myself and thinking of my own needs, I slowly forgot about all those powerful moments on the side of that mountain. The fire that had been blazing in Honduras started to diminish until it was just embers.

That's exactly where we meet the disciples in the passage this morning. They had been following Jesus for nearly three years - surely having mountain-top moments on a daily basis as Jesus healed people around him and taught them about scripture. Their lives had been changed, their hearts had been renewed and shifted in these moments. There was a fire lit in their hearts that was roaring for the mission that Christ had given them.

But then Jesus died, and the fire faded - they became scared and worried that maybe they couldn't live out this mission for Jesus. And then they witnessed him resurrected - another beautifully terrifying mountain-top experience.  But then he was gone again, and they were left with this mission that seemed too hard and too crazy.

And isn't that exactly where we are today? Two weeks ago, we came to church early (early early) and greeted one another with joy and thanksgiving that our redeemer lives! And we shouted "hallelujah!" And we sang songs and hymns with more energy than we should be able to muster at 6:30am.

And now, only a few weeks later we can barely drag ourselves out of bed to make it to church. We have forgotten that it is still Easter and we should still be shouting "hallelujah!" We have forgotten that Christ lives.

So the disciples are coming down off of all these mountain-top experiences and they know deep within their bones that everything has changed. They themselves have been changed but they are lost and they don't know where to go from here.

So they decided to go back to what they knew before Jesus had entered their lives and completely changed them. But if I know anything, it is that once Jesus enters your life, there is no going back to the way things used to be. You can try, but it will not be the same. So they went fishing. The disciples went back to the everyday drudgery of life. They did what they needed to do to provide for themselves and their families.

But I imagine that the reason they didn't catch any fish might be because they could feel that uneasiness, the restlessness, knowing everything had changed and that fishing was not what they were supposed to be doing. I imagine they felt something similar to what I felt when I came back from Honduras - I was restless and unsatisfied with life. Nothing seemed to be quite right because I tried so hard to go back to my old ways of living - before Jesus had come so close to me on that mountain.

And Jesus, as loving and persistent as he is, and wanting to make sure his disciples completely "get it" before he leaves them, he comes back and reminds them again. He reminds them who he is and what his mission is. He reminds them of whose they are and what their mission is.

And this is the terrifyingly beautiful part - Jesus doesn't just leave the disciples with a new job or a check list of things they need to get done as his disciples. He says, "feed my lambs, provide for my lambs, feed my sheep." He commands them to become shepherds. And if you know anything about being a shepherd, you know that "shepherd" is not a job title, it is an identity.

You can't take your "shepherd hat" on and off as you please. You cannot go out to the fields and throw food out to the sheep and lambs twice a day and call yourself a shepherd. Being a shepherd is 100% effort, 100% of the time. It is our new identity, it is our new mission and our new life. That is what it means to be a disciples of Christ.

Following Jesus is not easy and it is certainly not a list of things that we can check off our to do list every day. And that's why this passage is so terrifying to me. That is why mountain-top experiences are so terrifying and beautiful - because when God comes so close that we can no longer deny God,  we are in for real change. Our lives are no longer about taking care of ourselves. All of a sudden we are given all of these sheep in the form of our brothers and sisters in this world - our loved ones, our friends, our enemies, people in foreign lands we have never met - for whom we are called to lay down our lives. Just as Jesus laid down his life for all.

So this morning and throughout this season I pray that we take these mountain-top experiences, these moments when God comes so close that we suddenly feel changed and re-created, and we do not back away. When Jesus call us to feed his sheep and follow him, I pray that we understand the terrifyingly beautiful call to be his disciples and accept it - empowered by the Holy Spirit and renewed by the promise of our risen Christ and of the coming Kingdom. Amen.

A Different Way

This is the sermon I wrote the day after the Freddie Gray's funeral in Baltimore. I wrote it with tears in my eyes, with an aching heart. I wrote it because it is what I needed to hear. I preached it yesterday morning. I was terrified to be preaching about something so controversial and I was so blessed by the reception I received...

A few weeks ago when I began writing this sermon, I turned to my friend in the midst of sermon prep and said, “I just don’t have anything new to say about ‘love one another.’”  Now, it seems, I have too much to say, but no way of saying it.  It is with sighs too deep for words that I come before you this morning.  

What are we supposed to do in this world?  I feel helpless.  I feel angry and sad.  As I struggle to get my words on paper, I feel my whole soul sighing in desperation for this world.  “Come, Lord Jesus,” I pray, not really expecting an answer.  

What are we supposed to do in this world?  I am overwhelmed.  I am overwhelmed by the unjustified police violence throughout our country.  I am overwhelmed by the riots in Baltimore.  I am overwhelmed by the hatred I see in Facebook posts and comments from people who I have known to be loving and caring.  I am overwhelmed by the cries of the thousands who are denied their basic rights because of their sexual orientation.  I am overwhelmed by the despair and death in Nepal.  

What are we supposed to do in this world?  We are constantly told that violence is the answer - even when we have ignored the question.  This world tells us that the only way to be heard is to yell louder than our opponent.  We are told that the only way to make it to the top is to lie, cheat, and steal our way there.  This world continues to say that “justice” only applies if you are a part of the majority.  This world is telling us that only some lives matter. 

We cannot believe this world.  In fact, as Christians we DO not believe this world.  We have been baptized into the Body of Christ and we KNOW the truth.  It is not violence that triumphs.  It is not anger and vengeance that prevails.  Hate is not the answer.  

The lies of this world are just that - lies.  We cannot believe them.  No matter how true they feel in this week, in this time, in this place, we must cling to the real truth.  

And the real truth is this: Strength is in weakness.  Triumph is in death on a cross.  The gospel declares that Jesus’ death is the first pivotal moment - the moment where God’s reign breaks into this world.  And God’s reign does not look like this world at all.  The kingdom of God declares that love is the answer, that the way to be heard is to lay yourself down for another.  The kingdom of God calls us to be compassionate, careful, and righteous with our words and our actions.  

Jesus’ life shows us that even when it looks like hatred and violence wins, God is stronger, God prevails, God conquers death and the devil in order to restore the world.  We must not let this world overwhelm us, we must be overcome with Christ’s love.  

When we are overcome with Christ’s love, we see the world in a different way.  When we have the faith to abide in Jesus and he in us, our perspective becomes more holy, more heartbroken.  

I used to pray a very simple prayer when I was in college, “Lord, break my heart for the things that break your heart.”  What I realized was, that is way too hard.  There are too many things that break my heart now.  I am bogged down with the tragedies of this world.  But it gave me new eyes.  And when we become overwhelmed with Christ’s love for the world, we will have new eyes in Christ.  Now I pray that whole world’s heart would break for the things that break God’s heart. 

Because when that happens, when we begin using “God lenses,” we will see a new world.  We will see new answers.  When we see tragedies in this world, such as the earthquake in Nepal, the avalanche on Mt Everest, and the police violence throughout our cities, we will feel them deep within us as personal tragedies.  For they are not just the people of Nepal.  They are not just homosexual and transgender people in cities, they are not just African American people in Baltimore or North Charleston.  Jesus tells us that these people are our brothers and sisters.  And we are called to love them.  In fact, more than that - something that seems quite scandalous - we are called to love them so much that we would lay our lives down for them.  We skip over that line and dismiss it as a metaphor because it seems too hard, the stakes are too high if we say we must die.  

But the stakes are too high.  Our brothers and sisters are dying. They are being beaten to death, abused, denied basic human rights.  Whether the violence of the killing of an unarmed black man, or the violence of rioting in response to it - we are told that this is normal.  Our world tells us that this is okay.  Sin declares that this is how we bring about change.  But I promise you, my sisters and brothers, what the world says is normal is not normal at all.  Violence and hatred are not from God.  They are satanic, they are parasitic to the world that God created for wholeness, peace, shalom.  

We are called to throw away our tribal allegiances - whatever they might be. Jesus tells us in this very passage that there is a different way.  There is a the way of unity, righteousness, and peace.  God’s way is the way of love.  

The redemption of this world will not come from violence.  It will not come from hatred and abuse.  The reign of God does not come in anger and vengeance.  The kingdom of God breaks into this world when despite everything - despite the world telling us that violence is the only answer, that death will continue forever, that hatred is stronger - the kingdom of God breaks into this world when we decide to love. In this world that will continue to tell us we must kill one another, God says that we must die for another.  We are all brothers and sisters in Christ.  There is no “us” and “them.”  

And in this time of overwhelming violence, hatred, pointing fingers, and laying blame - we must remember that God says there is a different way and that it starts with us.  

It starts with this community.  It starts on a small scale - a relationship scale.  This new way of living, the kingdom of God in this world starts when people like you and me decide to love.  Instead of hating, instead of holding a grudge, instead of disregarding people because they look different, love different, or act different from us, we can decide to love.  

God works in small ways.  God is working the hearts of the thousands of volunteers who have gone to Nepal to help in recovery.  God was working through the hands of the people who came out the next morning in Baltimore to clean up the streets.  God is working in the Lutheran church as we continue to work to make our sanctuaries safe places for people of different sexual orientations, races, and backgrounds.  God is working. There is no denying that.  So let us offer up our own hands and feet, our own hearts and souls, in order to live into the love that God has so graciously and freely given us.  The Kingdom of God starts here. In this community.  Loving one another starts with us.